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 Surrounded by man-hungry women, today's bachelor can hardly avoid the connubial bite

"Can A
Bachelor Remain A Bachelor"

by Lee O. Miller


Sir Knight

Vol. 2 No. 11, 1961

    ANY DEMOLITIONS expert can tell you how to make and detonate gunpowder, nitroglycerine or dynamite, but if you try and botch the job--your first blast may be your last.
    The same applies to the bachelor who tries matching his wits with a woman. He soon learns that while he wants fun and games, she wants things permanent. Like every do-it-yourselfer who tackles a job beyond his skill, the bachelor is apt to abandon the project, or botch it and wind up married.
    There are several theories as to how to achieve the temporary and eliminate the permanent but they're voiced by married men so the immediate appraisal of their worth is "Monday morning quarterbacking."
    The most popular theory seems to be that the female ego is so intrigued by indifference, so tantalized by the lack of active male pursuit, that she will take a trip to a bachelor's bed--if only to prove to herself that that's all he wanted all along and that all men are marriage-dodging dogs. The trouble with this theory is that only one in 18 million men has the kind of Spartan self-control it requires--the rest of us can't resist trying.
    For those who must try, there is much to be learned from the female manual of operating procedure. Armed with data on the various types and techniques of the female, the earnest male student may be able to have his temporary cake and...well...Let's begin with tactic number one--designed to counter:

    THE NATURAL HABITAT of this bird of paradise is the smart cocktail lounge, the latest show, and the best restaurant in town--or at least the most expensive. Bird fanciers call her the Ever Twitching Love Warbler. We'll call our "for instance" girl Harriet Eyecatcher. She's never as happy as when she has one man at her side showering her with attention, and can find a way to make five other men in the room aware of her sexually arousing plumage. Generally, Harriet pretends all this attention is a great burden. After fluffing her long, blonde hair, jangling the cluster of bracelets on her arm, and jiggling the high heeled shoe at the end of her silken foot, she will demurely turn to her date, and their conversation will sound something like this:
    "Don't look now, but there's an other of those rape-eyed wolves staring at me. Why can't they leave me alone? Can't they see I'm with you? There seems to be more of them around lately--haven't you noticed? Well I have. Honestly, wouldn't you think they'd try to be less obvious. It's disgusting. Look at that one--just because my skirt is just a teensy-weensy bit above my knee, he thinks it's an invitation to bed. I'll bet he's a Peeping Tom. He looks the type. You're not--I could tell that the moment I met you. You seem so understanding--as if you realize that just because a girl is interested in men, that doesn't mean she doesn't have a more sensitive side to her nature. I'm interested in other things. Economics, for instance. I mean if a girl with the figure to wear a bikini didn't wear them, where would the poor people in the bikini business be? That's what I told George the other night when he asked me why I had so many. There I was, modeling them for him--merely to get his opinion about which one looked best on me--and he says I 'tempted' him. Did you ever hear of anything quite as ridiculous? He may have been tempted but was that my fault? Well, anyway, I certainly didn't invite him to try to untie my halter. He got very persistent about it, and just when things were getting absolutely sticky--you know what I mean?--this friend of mine, Rudy, stopped over for a drink--just by accident of course. Well, George took off in a huff, and Rudy--he has just mounds of money and keeps proposing to me--and I had a wonderful evening together. Rudy's so understanding--not aggressive at all. I mean, he's not one of those Kiss-and-Tell types. It's too bad he doesn't have your eyes, he'd be perfect. But your eyes!--they're just absolutely devastating. A girl who would refuse you anything would have to be an iceberg. Oh, I like sitting close, of course I do, but not that close! I mean not now. Oh, don't apologize, it's all right. There! Look at that fellow, across there, the one with the brunette--just look at the way he's staring at my neckline. I don't think It's too low, do you? I think I ought to get home now. I mean, I have to get a good night's sleep because I have an absolutely vital date tomorrow with Ralph, and well, a girl just can't be late for a date with the president of Consolidated Airlines, can she? It would be awfully sweet of you to send me home in a taxi, dear."
    Your first thought of what to do to THE TEASE may be violent, but desist. There's more than one way to pluck a bird. In case you have the misfortune to encounter her, don't take her to the fancy restaurant she craves. Challenge her with a line like: "I know you're not just one of those gold-diggers, so I thought a trip to the museum would appeal to your intellect."
    Ignore her, too. If you're one of the few who doesn't do backflips at the snap of her finger, she'll become puzzled to desperation. She's so egotistical she can't stand to be without the big response she's come to expect. She begins to feel insecure if she meets a man who shows no interest in getting her into his bed or vice versa. Playing cool with this bitch only gives you a 50-50 chance, but let's face it--she's no real fun anyway.

    THE TEASE is Miss-Take-All-And-Give-Nothing of this or any other year, and the unlucky guy who clips her wings usually wishes he hadn't. He's condemned to a life of inventing compliments. And Harriet can soak up unbelievable amounts of flattery and her man's rewards will be in direct proportion to this daily output. One other key to her character is that she rarely gets along with other women, and frequently finds a Plain-Jane for a sidekick in order to draw more attention to her own attractions.
    The guy who gets THE TEASE up to his bachelor quarters may think he is halfway home, but the battle has only begun. Flowers, soft lights, mellow music, chilled wine, a rare steak, and a crackling fire may bring out the average girl's romantic instincts, but with Harriet these persuasions merely start a yellow "caution light" blinking in her other wise empty head. The girl who talks a fast game--seldom plays it!
    In the long run, THE TEASE will generally trade her priceless gift of self for the best offer, and she'll take her time sifting the candidates and making sure all the bids are in. Her sister, whom we are about to consider, is just the opposite--she seeks marriage with an almost frightening intensity. We all know at least one, but let's take a look anyway.


    TO THIS FELINE female, marriage is the status sublime, and the sooner she can plunge into the pool of matrimony, the better she'll like it.
    Although usually a single maiden, the category includes many fraus who are looking to improve their positions by snagging off a better male from the passing parade-even if he belongs to somebody else.
    Playing games with her is as safe as juggling hand grenades...with the pins pulled.
    Let's dub our typification Sandra Snagwell. With a minimum of natural endowments she can turn in a stunning fight and she's never as dangerous as when she is apparently beaten. When this man-snatching cutie gets her claws on a quarry she makes the enraged female grizzly look like a baby panda.
    Her vote for the best piece of music ever written goes to the Wedding March.
    Now, there's nothing wrong with a girl wanting to get hitched, but it's the way Miss Snagwell goes about it that makes her hard to handle. The worst thing about her is that she is not only dedicated to her marriage mission, she is convinced that the male she ensnares was saved from a fate worse than be coming the lead character in a Fairy Story.
    But, unlike THE TEASE, Sandra doesn't object to playing the game of dalliance between man and maid. To her, a trip to bed is a proper prelude to wedded bliss--and a dandy piece of husband bait. But just one, you understand--as an appetizer.
    When in doubt, the best way to check this chick is to hand her two pieces of rope. If she instantly ties them in a knot, brother, you've found one.
    Sandra welcomes an invitation to your apartment. She's pretty sure you're after what men are supposed to be after, but she figures she can turn this desire into worthwhile channels that will pay life-long dividends.
    After arriving at your apartment, she sounds something like this:
    "Oh, what a cute place! If I had it, I wouldn't change a thing. It's perfect--except it needs some chintz curtains on those two windows, that's all. I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to throw out that table and get a china cabinet to replace it--for entertaining, you know. But I really do love your place just the way it is....Oh, is this the bedroom? I like it, really. It's a little bleak, though. I just can't put my finger on it, but it seems to lack something--a woman's touch? There I go, sounding like a designing female, which is the last thing in the world I want to be. Live and let live--that's my motto. If a man wants to stay single, let him. But, still, when you think of all the poor, old lonely people in the world, living all by themselves with nobody to care what happens to them, it makes you think, doesn't it? Everyone needs someone. Well. now, let's see what the poor old bachelor has for dinner. Come on, let's catch it before it burns...Oh, look, there's a button off your corduroy jacket. I'll take care of that after we eat--and after we just sit for a while and have our coffee in front of the fire. Just the two of us. Now, while I make the salad, you just sit there and drink your drink. One of the things I hate is girls who make such a big deal of cooking a dinner. It's nothing when you know how. What I think a girl should be to a man is much more than...,you know. I'm blushing? Don't be silly. Well, let's be honest about it. A woman who's just a drudge around the house is no fun. If a girl can't be a real companion to a man, what good is she? Who was it that said, "The curse of a bachelor's life is a cold bed'? Well, it's like my mother always said, "Thank heaven I don't have a cold fish for a daughter." Of course, I shouldn't be the one to say that, but it's true...I probably think too much about sex. Oh, stop saying things like that, now you've got me blushing again. Come on, you take out the steak. Let's eat, and then...well, we'll just see what the evening has to offer...
    Brother, one thing the evening is sure to offer is a pitch that may convince even you that the brand of packaged bliss she's selling is a steal at half the price. What's more, if you think "all's fair in love and war" is something a man can use against Sandra, you're mistaken. If you don't ask her for a date, you hear rumors in your crowd that you've got a secret crush on her but are too bashful to ask her out. Guess who started them? And if you do ask for a date, you're "simply mad about her and can't leave her alone." If you don't kiss her goodnight, you're shaking her self-confidence as a woman; if you do, you're committing yourself to marry her. And just think, you lucky guy, you may be the recipient of all these unexpected blessings. Immediately up on encountering this lassoing lass, run, do not walk to the nearest exit. Which brings us to the last important female type:


    THIS GAL COMBINES the most apparent traits of THE TEASE and THE DESPERATE HUSBAND HUNTER without really being either. She's usually got so much going for her in face, figure, brains, and vivacity that it's hard to believe she isn't battling for one of the more obvious feminine goals.
    But, in fact, she's out to do nothing but destroy men. She hates them--although she may not know it --and she has the equipment to do something about it. Each new man in her life is due for a more rigorous testing than an astronaut, and when he fails one of her tests, she unhesitantly casts him aside and goes on the hunt again.
    Let's label our typical Amazon Huntress Betsy Blitzkrieg.
    Put a tennis racket in her hands, and with those long legs of hers, she'll run the pants off the guy who climbs wearily off the commuter's train. After several drinks and dinner, she's ready to dance all night She finds it funny that Tom, her last squire, couldn't stand the torrid pace.
    When athletic prowess and a sharp tongue won't win the day, this throwback to the first female Olympic runner will become the most clinging cuddle-kitten who ever invited a tennis champ to take up golf--which she plays even better than she does tennis. If she out-scores him, Betsy loses interest. Beaten males hold no fascination for her. She wants the one man who can outplay, outtalk, out-earn and out love her. She yearns for the "superior male" who will make her feel like a woman. You can bet that when this tough cutie finally snares her ideal, he'll spend the rest of his life measuring up to her escalator standards. She is the type of woman who becomes "the power behind the throne."
    Fast on her feet, certain she can outwit him without half trying, she saunters up to the bachelor's door with the conniving male. It's a rainy evening and he has just plied her with dinner and three martinis. In his mind, he's already in bed with her. He's weaving already from the drinks; she isn't even breathing hard. As he steps up to his door, he shows her the key, grins, and says:
    "It's platinum. I always keep a spare, just in case...
    From then on, Betsy sounds some thing like this:
    "Oh, Tom, really! Platinum is for weddings rings, not keys...haven't you heard. Well...quite a den of iniquity you've got here. Are you a real tiger up here, Tom, or just a kitty-cat?--so few men really are tigers. I'll throw together another martini--you always bruise the gin. And only one more for you--I'll take the dividend. You better take off those wet shoes; you'll be sneezing in a minute...Now, dear, just come over here on the couch and put your head back and rest. There, that's better. I'll stroke your forehead. It's good for the sinuses. You should get more rest and more exercise. For heaven's sake, Tom, you're getting positively pudgy. Here, feel my arm muscle. You've just got to find time for more exercise. Well, I know you work, but that's no excuse. You never show your male drive, Tom, but I knew it's there. That's what's so exciting to a girl. You're one of these men who's so bored with this phony world that you never let on that you want to throw your woman over your shoulder and take to the woods to hack out an empire for yourself. Oh, how that idea inspires me. Wow! What I wouldn't give to march side by side with a man like that. Honey, don't lounge over there on your side of the couch like you just don't give a damn. I know--you're testing me! I'll show you I'm the one you've been looking for. I'll take the initiative--I'll kiss you. I'll convince you how right we are for each other. Come here, you handsome hunk of man...
    If you hear these words, friend, you have passed Betsy's final test. Make your peace with the world; bid farewell to dalliance, and ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee---in the belfry of the nearest church.

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